


Love given unsought

by id_ten_it



Series: Inktober [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (it isn't necessary...yet), Anthea Ships it with Force if Necessary, Inktober, Inktober 2020, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27427441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_ten_it/pseuds/id_ten_it
Summary: If you look after the little things, the big things look after themselves; or, how Greg went from worrying over a drink to hitched.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Inktober [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003845
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	Love given unsought

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Inktober prompt nr 28 (arrival) from the alternative Inktober pompt list found [here](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/post/630712063324504064/we-are-doing-this-thing-yall-so-it-was), with thanks for the originator for doing the hard yards and providing a better alternative to the original.

“I just don’t understand” he complained to John one night over a pint, “he’s brilliant, and a looker, and – look – no offence mate but he’s a bit better at the whole…people…thing.”  
John hunched one shoulder in an admission of Greg’s rightness. “Sherlock normally gets enough feedback on all that, and I think the lack of pressure growing up helped. He’s not actually as needy as you’d think at first glance. Mycroft on the other hand…”  
“The complete opposite” Greg sighed, “though I don’t want to condition him to praise, either, that’s just an unhealthy dependency.”  
John laughed, and they devolved into a discussion of psychologists they’d been to.

Despite his fear, Greg still made sure to praise his partner. It was easy – he didn’t usually plan to – Mycroft was genuinely the most fascinating, brilliant, caring person he’d met. The other man got fond kisses when he cracked the crossword they were doing, and warm smiles when he took the rubbish out. He got winks when he got dressed up, and warm hands on his shoulders when he doubted himself. No matter how many times he did it, Mycroft never seemed to get used to it.

It was far from one sided though. Greg was lavished in attention, drowned in snatched messages and calls, small gifts from odd cities, silent drinks after draining cases, Mycroft trying to be there for him and sometimes managing. Greg loved it all. Loved it so much he kissed Mycroft as soon as he came home from The Yard one night, no matter the sparse auburn hair sticking up over one ear clearly signaling one of them was working late that night. Mycroft smelled of sleep and English Breakfast, and was in the delightfully rumpled state Greg associated with late-afternoon naps. “Am I looking particularly good this afternoon?” Mycroft teased, long fingers wrapping almost nervously around the tea cup as he prepared for irregular hours crammed into an already punishing schedule.  
“Nervous? Not like you.”  
“I _am_ the eldest child.” Mycroft returned drily, “I’m well versed at begging for attention.” And normally Greg would let it go, but this time he didn’t. There was a question burning in his heart and it drove for more answers.

“Don’t need to, not with me, I hope?”  
Suddenly Mycroft’s tea was on the table, warm hands took his. “Not with you. You’re rather too good with me really.” Returning the kiss, he added lightly, “I don’t want to ever stop this.”  
“Neither.” Holding Mycroft’s gaze, Greg raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was a suave fashion, “let’s not. Let’s just stay on like this. Get married?”  
“Get married.” Mycroft rolled his lips into his mouth, thinking, eyes softening when he recovered enough cognitive space to realise Greg was both serious and nervous. “Let’s get married.” Cupping Greg’s jaw with his right hand, tangling his left with Greg’s right, he ducked his head for a kiss.

They’d been kissing for years, in all sorts of circumstances. Greg had never felt so stripped bare as this moment though. It was as though, reassured by marriage, Mycroft could finally let himself go. When they eventually parted, Greg pressed their foreheads together and fluttered his eyelashes open. “As soon as you like. As long as you like. Whenever you like.”  
“Sounds perfect.” In a moment of levity he would deny in public, and indulge often in in private, Mycroft huffed into Greg’s ticklish neck, “or at least, sounds like someone isn’t getting enough sex.”  
Right on cue the nervousness and seriousness fled, and Greg was lit up like the sun again. “Mycroft Holmes! You are running the very real risk of being late to whatever your meeting is. Go on, or I won’t let you go.”  
“I suppose even Anthea is not skilled enough to convince the Arabs they should continue their discussions once they realise that not only do I have the misfortune to be gay, but that I selected late-afternoon intercourse over important diplomatic discussion.”  
Greg huffed another laugh, turning his fiancée and half-marching him towards the study. “As long as Anthea’s listening to your nonsense, I need it on record that I reckon she could manage that lot with one hand behind her back. Go on. L’see you in the morning.”  
“Sleep well.” Mycroft deviated from tradition to pause on the doorstep, turning in Greg’s arms to capture his gaze and run one trembling thumb down the beloved face. “You have _terrible_ timing.”  
“You love me anyway.”  
“I love you. Go away.”  
Greg went.  
  



End file.
